Dear Brokencyde,
No, I am not going to call you brokeNCYDE in the way you spell it because f*ck you. Oh, I know you white boys are from THE NU (New Mexico to all of us “ha8ers”), and I certainly would never dream of messing with someone from your clearly intellectually advanced state, but I’m going to do it anyway because your mothers are whores. I want you to know something. I hate you. Not in a snarky, ironic, “haha these guys are so bad I hate them” way. I despise you on a level your Ecstasy racked brains could never comprehend. I abhor you. I revile you. I am the staunchest defender of bad music I know because I have a great appreciation for irony, but what you have done to the arena of music is absolutely inconceivable. I suppose I could come up with some really witty barbs and sweeping metaphors to extrapolate exactly how much a$s you suck (you see that, I put a DOLLAR SIGN on that a$S PLAYA!), but I’m not going to waste my effort because go f*ck yourselves.
Hi Steven. No, I’m not going to call you Se7en because that is not what your mother named you and because f*ck you. Because calling yourself “Se7en” is unrivaled in its banal, insipid idiocy. Because you are easily the worst vocalist in the history of music and your genre is Crabcore. I see you’ve toned down your faux totally BALLIN badass screams from “I’m Not a Fan But the Kids Like It,” so this time around instead of planning to kill you I am just going to fight you. I will f*cking fight you. I want you to know that I had sex with your mother. It’s kind of funny you have a song called “Whoa!” on your new album because that is exactly what she said when suffocating under the sheer size of my love shot she was desperately cleaning off her face. Ready to fight yet? No? Your vocals on the chorus line to “U Mad Bro” are easily the worst “clean” vocals I’ve ever heard, and the song is by far your most recalcitrant, horrific effort which is kind of like saying your mother is dumber than a bag full of taints. Because she is, and because you are, and because it is. I promise you I’m not trolling. I know you think trollers gon troll (you can’t even say that right) but I am telling you I will meet you anytime anywhere. See you in Sante Fe, bitch.
Oh Michael. I know your father is probably really disappointed that you are calling yourself “Mikl” when that is not what he named you, so I am going to refuse to call you that because f*ck you. I know that you are supposed to be the requisite clean vocalist. I guess that means you use auto-tune on a level that makes T-Pain sound like Goddamn Pavarotti. You know something? You’re even worse than Steven. I think I’m going to fight you too. You see, I know you tried really hard brah (is that what you kids use?) to out-do the gap-toothed f*ck-tard Paul Wall on “Phenomenon,” but it’s not even funny that you got owned by a guy who was previously famous for collaborating with (and getting PWNED by) Hulk Hogan’s daughter. I mean, are you proud of that? Did you see that I just said PWNED? I don’t even know what that means. It’s kind of how you write songs. You like to talk about getting DRUNK, and STR8 PIMPIN (holla), and doin drugz in da clubb and oh yeah you’re stupid. Die. See you in Albuquerque you one-balled, half-bred, knuckle dragging, ass-ramming, spiked hair having (or is that Steven?) not funny guy. You suck at music. I’m probably going to hospitalize you. See you there homo.
Dear Julian. No I’m not going to call you PHAT J because that’s not how you spell Fat and because the really nice lady at the orphanage clinic who found you on their doorstep because your mother didn’t want you named you Julian. Also, because f*ck you. You are the worst and least worst member of the band at the same time. You’re the best in the sense that you don’t provide vocals which might make me spare your life if we were to engage in a battle of fisticuffs, but you’re also the worst because you’re the DJ (holla) and without you morons Steven and Michael wouldn’t be able to actually release a record. You are in the business of making beats. That does not mean you should find the worst samples in the history of hip hop and loop them. That does not mean that you are supposed to suck on a level of suckage that has never been rivaled in the history of DJ suck-ass-atude, and that’s saying a lot because most DJ’s f*cking suck hard. I’m actually starting to hate you more with every sentence. I can’t think of another town in New Mexico so I’ll just meet you in Sante Fe and utterly humiliate you and big STEVE at the same time. You know what, tell Michael to show up too. 3 on 1 (you know, kind of like you guys did to that helpless dude you hospitalized because he said something truer than the fact Steven’s mother is a whore (he said you sucked). I promise I will not lose. I’m bigger than that guy. I have an anger management problem. I am not merely suggesting you make sure your health insurance is paid up. I am actually demanding it because I don’t have a lot of money and I know you’re probably going to sue me hard. It’s ok. Smashing your faces in for what you’ve done to music will be worth it. Buy me a plane ticket bitch.
Sincerely,
Go F*ck Yourselves
